


Insomnia

by hailingstars



Series: Febuwhump [20]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Febuwhump, I'm sorry May, Insomnia, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Pianos, Tony is the Best Dad, Yes again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-02 01:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: Peter keeps his insomnia problem to himself, until he passes out in gym class and Tony has to come peel him off the floor.





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you all are having an amazing Thursday and are as happy as I am that tomorrow is Friday!

Peter opened his eyes and was hit with an immediate, familiar ache coming from somewhere behind them. It was unrest. It was waking up from something that wasn’t sleep, not really, and it left him drained, left him wanting to cry tears of frustration, but he couldn’t. Not here. He was staring up at the high ceilings of his school’s gymnasium, and hushed whispers implied an audience. 

He brought one hand to his temple, like he’s seen Tony to so many times, and rubbed his forehead. 

“What happened?” 

“Dude, you passed out during sit-ups,” said Ned. 

He was kneeling next to him on the blue mat, but as Peter slowly sat up, he saw it was just him, the school nurse, his gym teacher, and Ned. The rest of the class were standing on the other side of the gym, staring, but keeping their distance. Underneath him, the blue mat crinkled with his movement, and Peter was so tired, even their school’s lackluster gym equipment felt comfortable. 

Peter knew technically he hadn’t been in a peaceful sleep, being knocked out hardly counted, but he wanted it back. At least passed out he wasn’t painfully aware of how tired he was, or painfully aware of the next sinking realization to hit him. 

He looked at Ned. “Please tell me they didn’t call – “ 

“-Sorry, man,” said Ned. “Apparently it’s protocol.” 

As if on cue, Peter’s head snapped to the side as the door doubles to the gym came open and Tony, dressed in his typical suit and sunglasses, hurried across the floor. Louder whispering broke out, and Peter can’t help the flash of annoyance running through him. 

It had been on every news site everywhere, treading on Twitter, even, that Tony Stark took guardianship of him. He didn’t see why it had to be such a big deal, or a shock, to see him there, at Midtown High. 

Tony knelt down next to Peter, put a steadying, comforting hand on his shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

The was a natural and immediate reaction. Peter didn’t want Tony to worry. When he worried, he helicoptered, and Peter had hoped he could solve his insomnia problem on his own.

“He passed out during a sit-up test,” said his teacher. “He told his friend Ned he hasn’t been sleeping.” 

Peter turned back to his former friend. “Ned.” 

“Sorry dude! I thought you were dying!” 

“How long has this been going on?” asked Tony. He wasn’t angry, and that was a relief, but there was something else, a certain edge to his voice, that Peter didn’t like, made him guilty that it was him and his problems that put it there. “I need an answer, kid.” 

He kept his mouth closed. 

“Peter – “

“-Do we have to have this conversation right now?” 

He didn’t mean to snap at Tony, and wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for that nagging ache behind his eyes. It made him heed no danger. The whispering nagged at him, too, the way it they echoed, recycled voices coming up with soon-to-be recycled rumors, and the way those voices stared right at him and Tony Stark. 

Tony looked away from him, and back at his teacher. “Do you have anywhere private we could talk.” 

“The boys locker room.” 

Tony narrowed his eyes, disgusted by the suggestion, but scrapped Peter off the floor and guided him over to the entrance to the locker room. Peter needed to change out from his gym clothes anyway, he explained, since Tony sure as hell wasn’t leaving him at school for the rest of the day. 

Peter was immune to the smell the of the locker room, and only realized it must have smelled bad by the scrunched expression on Tony’s face. He hoped, maybe, that the smell would put off the talk until the car, but luck wasn’t on Peter’s side. 

Tony put pressure on his shoulders and directed him to sit on the bench in front of his locker. Tony didn’t sit, and Peter couldn’t blame him. Designer suits and smelly high school locker room benches just didn’t mix. He did, however, flipped his sunglasses up to the top of his head, so Peter had real eyes to look at. 

It made all the difference, and now that there wasn’t an audience, there wasn’t any whispering to distract and annoy him, the ache gave way to a few, silent tears. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to close his eyes and feel rest instead of agony, to sleep instead of dream. 

“What’s going on?” The question was soft, almost a whisper, the edge was gone. 

“I can’t sleep,” said Peter. His voice was raw and incredibly whiney and mixed with snot. He was too tired to care about looking weak. Tired, but also relieved. Tony knew now, and Peter couldn’t figure out why he ever thought it was a good idea to keep his insomnia a secret from him. 

“I got that,” said Tony. “How long?” 

“…five days,” said Peter, and it was quiet, another than the broken shower facet the school never bothered to get fixed. 

“Jesus, kid,” said Tony, hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Peter shrugged, and Tony sighed. 

“Well it’s gonna be okay,” he said, after a few seconds. “We’ll figure it out.” 

Figuring it out turned out to be leaving school in the middle of the day. It was letting Tony carry his bookbag out to the car for him, like he was some sort of invalid, without protest. It was sitting silently in the front seat of Tony’s car, watching buildings go by and listening to him talk about his struggles with insomnia, but it wasn’t sleep. 

Sleep evaded him at every turn, and it was another two days before Peter achieved rest, even with Tony, who attempted to help him the best he could. 

First came the soup. It was laid out of the table, steaming with heat, and pushed towards Peter. He thought soup was only for the sick, not the sleepless, but he supposed that they those two things weren’t all that different. 

Tony’s next methods were cruel. He took his phone. He banned him from caffeine, and no amount of whining or puppy dog eyes could make him cave. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do before bed if he wasn’t texting Ned or watching YouTube, but that question was answered when Tony declared it was time for bed and he followed him back to his room. 

He laid next to him, played with his hair, and told him old stories, of Avenger’s battles and of his and Rhodey’s college days. It didn’t lull him off to sleep. He wanted to hear more, and those few moments his body was able to let Tony’s voice sink him to his dreams, he fought against it. 

As he listened to the stories, Peter wondered if Tony would be this attentive and understanding if he knew he wasn’t fighting against involuntarily insomnia, but instead Peter’s stubbornness. He didn’t tell him, instead just listened, until Tony’s voice drifted off and he fell asleep, leaving Peter to lay in the darkness alone. 

Hours later, Tony woke up, somewhat ashamed, and definitely disappointed. “No luck, huh?” 

“No.” 

Tony released a heavy sigh and put a head on Peter’s head. “Breakfast?” 

He nodded. Tony’s cooking was surprisingly good, and always welcomed. 

Peter suffered through just one more day of unrest, of no caffeine, and of Tony’s helpful but unsuccessful tricks to get him to sleep. 

It was a Thursday afternoon that Peter stumbled into Tony’s home office. Despite having lived with him a month, he had yet to go in there. He was shocked by its simplicity, and more surprised to see Tony seated at a piano. 

“Do you play?” asked Peter, from the doorway. 

Tony beckoned for him to come join him, and Peter treaded across the carpet and took a seat next to him on the piano bench. Tony’s fingers moved across the keys effortlessly. Peter didn’t know the name of the song he was playing, but he knew it sounded familiar. 

“My mother taught me,” he said. “She used to play for me, and now I guess it calms me down.” 

“Wouldn’t that bother you, though?” asked Peter. “To be reminded of her, like this, when she’s not… here.” 

Tony stopped playing, and Peter didn’t like that. There’d been something about it he found soothing, but for the moment, he looked at Tony and waited for his answer. Peter needed to know this more than anything. 

“I suppose it hurts sometimes,” said Tony. “To know I’ll never heard her play again, but it’s the good hurt, because I know she would want me to keep playing.” 

“May would want me to keep dreaming.”

“Yeah.”

“I – I don’t want to go to sleep and see her,” said Peter. He always knew that was the reason he wouldn’t allow sleep to come, but saying it aloud, he comprehended its truth for the first time. “Because waking up in world without her is just like losing her all over again.” 

Tony wrapped an arm around him, pulled him closer, and kissed the top of his head. “I know, bud. It’s hard.”

Tony’s arm left him, but Peter didn’t mind. He started playing again, that song he both knew and didn’t know, and his eyes were heavy. He let them shut. He let them stay shut as the piano music came to a sudden halt, as he was being carried and laid to what he can only assume was the couch just a few feet away. A blanket covered him, and playing started again, and Peter drifted into his dreams.


End file.
